


Far-Fletched

by BosieJan



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, M/M, Petopher Appreciation Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 22:19:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8771596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BosieJan/pseuds/BosieJan
Summary: Peter wasn't just a neck model; he was the best in the country. So when Howler Magazine hired him for their newest issue, Peter wasn't prepared to shoot with a photographer that carried a dangerous reputation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 'Tuesday - AU' submission for Petopher Appreciation Week 2016
> 
> This fic was inspired by a post of mine from a few years ago (can be found here: http://sataninavneck.tumblr.com/post/151685102031/eeyore9990-sataninavneck-howler ), and by the art of ‘fletching’; which hunters and bowmen employed once upon a time to make their arrows. I have a filthy obsession with Ian Bohen's neck, and his desperate need to show it off to the world.

“Okay, so he’s my what, make-up artist? The guy that brings me a new jacket when I take this one off?”

 

Peter scowled at the set coordinator, her cheerful smile and outward positivity giving him a headache. Behind her, the set was ready for him to arrive in the first outfit, complete with the light modifying umbrellas and a backdrop of white linen. The magazine wanted bright light, muted clothing colours, and Peter Hale above all else. Peter had agreed to be in the shoot for both the large sum of money offered, and the notoriety.

 

Being the country’s top neck model was one hell of a title to live up to, and  _ Howler Magazine  _ wasn’t fooling around with amateur models with something to prove.

 

“He’s your photographer, Peter,” the set coordinator finally managed, rolling her eyes at Peter’s obvious disinterest. “He’s new to  _ Howler _ , but not new to W mags.  _ Skinwalker, Tooth & Tail, Silver Side Up _ . Chris Argent’s got an impressive portfolio.”

 

Peter’s attention was drawn like a magnet to black iron and he sneered at the set coordinator, sticking his tongue out as if in disgust of something.

 

“ _ Silver Side Up _ , are you for real? That’s a hunter magazine! You know,  _ ‘tips & tricks on how to bag your first beast’ _ ! No way am I sitting for him if he’s attached to that fucking trash.”

 

“Well that’s a  _ shame _ , Hale, because I’m here now and I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you bear more column than the goddamn Parthenon. Now stand on the blue line like a good boy and we can get this over with.”

 

Peter watched as the new photographer stepped into his line of sight, all long legs and slim, streamlined body, though it was his greying hair and perfect set of teeth that had Peter’s real attention. Pissed off as he was, Peter actually found himself somewhat at a loss for words.

 

“Put  _ him _ in his place, Mr. Argent,” the set coordinator commented, as she waved her hand for the other members of the crew to take their places for shooting to commence. “You may be an alpha werewolf under all that denim after all.”

 

Chris flipped the woman off and went to his camera set up, adjusting a few things and testing the ambient light with his light meter, finding it to be right but only if Peter stayed on the blue line, as indicated. He peered into the camera with one eye while lifting his head minutely to keep the other eye on Peter, not wary of him but suspicious of his bad behaviour. Neck models were rare and yes, Peter Hale was known to be a bit of a drama queen, but Chris had worked with some terrible models before. Only a handful of them had been real werewolves modelling for W mags--the term given to werewolf magazines with questionable or pornographic content--as most were humans playing pretend.

 

“ _ Argent _ ; that’s cute,” Peter mused, his arms at his sides and his legs apart, settling himself in a way that rocked his hips toward the photographer. He may have to stand in the same position for some time, so comfort was key. “Sarah tells me you’ve worked for SSU in the past. I’m assuming photographer, due to your current job here, but were you only taking pictures, or were you also a contributing journalist, I wonder.  _ Can’t  _ be coincidence.”

 

Chris smiled, though it was crooked and a little stiff. “Pictures only. My sister did all the writing.”

 

The flash popped and Peter blinked curiously, unaware that the shoot was already on the go, but it was either a slip of Chris’ finger or a purposeful flash to disorient him. Peter turned a quarter turn away from the camera and looked as fierce as his leather jacket and painted-on blue jeans could allow, the barest hint of his teeth showing. The flash went off twice in succession and Peter was immediately on the loose.

 

Two full-body shots fully dressed. A half dozen of only Peter’s top half, all still clothed but differing facial expressions ranging from happy to severely upset. No model was to shift on-set however; it worried the human employees and was a bit unnecessary unless it was a shift-shoot to begin with. Another half dozen shots were taken of Peter’s lower half, focusing on his thick thighs and narrow waist. He shrugged out of the jacket for another three in just the white t-shirt and jeans, then went about rending the white shirt to pieces as he pulled down the neckline to expose the long column of his thick neck. 

 

Ten shots were taken from all angles, Peter’s eyes usually half-lidded but always focusing on where Chris was and where it seemed he was going to shoot from next. Peter wanted no part of what Chris  _ had _ been a part of, but he was suitably attracted to the handsome photographer, despite his unfortunate relations.

 

Claps were heard when Chris held the camera away from himself with a snap of his fingers, and Peter finally straightened up, a set assistant bringing him a new t-shirt to shrug on in place of the ripped one, while the jacket was scooped up and taken back to the wardrobe department. It sometimes took Peter a few minutes to get back out of his modelling headspace and he exited the studio by the side door for some fresh air, his back to the street and his eyes on the door from the outside.

 

It opened just as Peter was feeling more like himself, and Chris strolled out with a coffee in his hand, the lid already popped open and the liquid inside steaming into the cool evening air. 

“Nice shoot,” Chris said conversationally, his voice deep enough that it carried a little from the fire escape they stood upon.

 

“Fuck  _ you _ , it was a fantastic shoot,” Peter countered, stepping away from Chris to give himself some defense space. “My kind eat this shit up, and it’s not even porn for  _ you _ people.”

 

“Yeah, well, there isn’t much I  _ don’t _ know about your kind, Peter.”

 

“No kidding. Is there a reason why I shouldn’t have you arrested? Werewolf hunters aren’t really supposed to be out in the open, and even SSU is an underground publication. Why are you showing your face to the kind of people your family murder in cold blood?”

 

Chris looked taken aback by Peter’s knowledge of the Argent’s and what they did, but Chris knew that having their name plastered all over anything remotely made public was risky, due to its affiliations with illegal werewolf hunting. Werewolves could be hunted if they went rogue and murdered people during their shifts, but Kate Argent and their father Gerard had made names for themselves as vigilante hunters, picking off werewolves that hadn’t even committed any crimes at all.

 

“Because I’m not a murderer. Haven’t made a kill since that werejaguar went after Kate back in 2014. It was legal, but I still felt bad doing it. Maybe shooting people with cameras is my new method, hm?  _ ‘Let no harm come to those who don’t harm others’ _ ?”

 

Peter snorted and headed back inside, pointing toward the closed fire escape door and whispering harshly to Sarah. “He’s fucking  _ trouble _ !”

 

She rolled her eyes again, then replied in just as cartoonish of a whisper. “Skinwalker, Peter. Skinwalker. He made your nephew famous.”

 

“He shot Derek?”

 

Sarah laughed lightly as she nodded. “For  _ The Alpha Inside _ ’s anniversary edition; you know which one I mean.”

 

Peter did. It featured his nephew Derek Hale as the centerfold, wearing only a black jockstrap and a pair of white socks. Derek was a body model of the highest caliber, but his neck modeling was nothing compared to Peter’s. Derek worked out constantly and spent a lot of his off time crashing in some warehouse loft outside of the city, chasing teenagers for tail and playing older brother to a new alpha by the name of Scott. Derek had warned Peter off a few times since Scott was wary of him, so Peter skirted the sidelines and made a name for himself as something Derek was not.

 

The fact that Derek was an alpha and Peter was not, didn’t even come into play.  _ It didn’t. _

 

“..Fine. I’ll sit for him until this edition’s rolled out, but then I want to renegotiate my contract. I’m not getting any hazard pay by sitting for a hunter, even if he’s only guilty by association any more. The risk itself is high, and I’m the agency’s best necker, right?”

 

Sarah sighed and nodded again, gesturing toward the door as Chris came back inside, his coffee empty. “Best necker in the business, with a boner for the best photographer in the business. You two better fuck it out before the next shoot, because that kinda shit gets made into movies, Peter.”

 

“The hell?”

 

“Porno’s, Peter. Hunter fucking a werewolf? That’s like, the ultimate taboo, isn’t it?”

 

“Damn right, it is,” Chris chimed in, his arms crossed over his chest and his coffee cup gone. It was a defensive posture that Peter noticed right away, but Chris stood close enough that Peter could also feel his heat and smell the development solutions on Chris’ skin. He may shoot in digital format, but he also developed film the old way. Peter’s curiosity was immediately piqued; what was Chris taking pictures of, that he developed personally in a likely private darkroom?

 

“But it isn’t so bad for those that like a little danger with their dickings,” Chris admitted. “Tie a werewolf up and have your way with him in some dank basement somewhere? Sounds like a goddamn dream come true.”

 

Peter swallowed audibly, then made a gesture like he was bored and heaved a heavy sigh. 

 

“Are we done? I’ve got somewhere to be.”

 

Sarah waved toward the door and walked away, the crew already complaining about the late evening and where  _ they _ had to be on a Saturday night.

 

“Yeah, you  _ do _ have somewhere to be, Hale,” Chris pointed out, his teeth showing as he smiled, but their pearly white surface hiding some sort of darkness Peter hadn’t really noticed before. “Back at my studio, where I’ve got a set-up just  _ begging _ to shoot you.”

 

Peter snorted, a genuinely amused sort of sound. “Shoot me, or  _ shoot _ me?”

 

“Take your picture, or  _ numerous _ pictures, so I can develop them myself and only share with _ you _ . If I throw in some wolfsbane-laced whiskey and a few of Beacon Hills’ finest pizzas, would you consider it?”

 

Peter made another sound; a considering but also suspicious noise. “Only if you’ll shoot me in the nude. All my best angles show up if there’s nothing blocking the view.”

 

Chris smiled broadly this time, one hand sliding down from his chest to fetch a card from his back pocket, the address of his studio printed upon the white surface in silver foil. 

 

“Nine thirty, no earlier and no later. Bring an overnight bag.”

 

“Very specific.”

 

“I have my reasons. Don’t be late, Peter.”

 

Peter gave a weak, purposely-childish military salute. “Yes,  _ sir. _ ”

 

“Yes, _ Alpha _ ,” Chris corrected, his back turned to Peter as he walked away to head to his own studio and get ready. 

 

“ _ You’re _ not my alpha,” Peter scoffed. 

 

“I  _ will _ be by the time the weekend is over.”

 

Peter stared at Chris’ retreating form, his cock hard in the painted-on jeans, and the entire crew looking his way for some sort of retort. Peter had nothing. He’d just met the man of his dreams, and he was a fucking werewolf hunter. Somewhere, karma was fucking Peter’s voodoo doll with an arrow shaft and laughing out loud.


End file.
